


Bracketed

by glim



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Academia, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Best Friends, Friends to Lovers, Graduate School, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 08:22:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13119849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glim/pseuds/glim
Summary: Wherein Steve and Bucky decide to move in together, and then decide to let themselves fall in love at last.





	Bracketed

Almost skidding on the suddenly rain-wet sidewalk, Steve ducks into the cafe while Bucky holds the door for him. He gives himself a shake when they walk in, then shivers at the feel of the air conditioning on his damp skin. 

"Was it even supposed to rain?" Bucky pushes his hair back off his forehead with one hand and rests the other on Steve's back. "You want something hot to drink? I'm getting coffee, I'm cold," he adds before Steve has a chance to be embarrassed about shivering. 

"Sure, okay. Coffee," Steve says, then, after a thought adds, "decaf, though." 

"I know, Steve, I remember. I haven't lived out here long enough to forget your hatred toward real coffee." Bucky's hand gives Steve a push toward one of the empty tables by the window. "Grab that seat. I'll get us muffins, too." 

Bucky's done before Steve can attempt to pay for their coffee, and he just shakes his head as Bucky immediately starts making small talk with the guy at the counter. The table Bucky directed Steve towards has a nice view of street, one a few blocks away from campus, and is, Steve realizes, out of the draft from the air conditioning. Steve's grateful, even though neither he nor Bucky will say anything about it. By the time he's settled at the table, rain swiped off his glasses, notebook, pen, and phone in front him, Bucky's done getting their coffees. 

"You really did get muffins." Steve wraps his hands around his mug. "Blueberry?" 

"Yeah, and the other one's lemon cranberry. Here." Bucky adds milk and sugar to his coffee, then hands a butter knife over to Steve. 

The ritual is probably about as old as their friendship: they each get something they both like and split both. The method works best with things like muffins and sandwiches, but he and Bucky have found ways to split ice creams and candy bars over the past twenty years. 

They've found ways to share most things, really, even with Bucky living two states away while he does his graduate work in Pennsylvania. Steve's pretty sure he has at least two hoodies and a pair of pajama pants at Bucky's apartment, and at least one night a week he ends up wearing one of Bucky's tee shirts to bed that he's left at Steve's place.

Which... okay. He's not sure how to explain that to anyone, not to Bucky or even to himself, but he just knows that most Friday nights after work, all he wants is a really hot shower and to fall asleep in something that reminds him irrevocably of his best friend. 

"So," Bucky says, eating part of the blueberry muffin that Steve hands to him, "you had an official tour of campus, and you met your advisor and chose classes for the fall?"

"That's right. I have three classes, and I'm TAing one class, too. Actually TAing, not teaching like you do, though." 

"You'll work up to that. Anyway, I don't really teach, I lead the study group once a week, and grade the hell out of all their papers." He eats another piece of muffin, then waits for Steve to finish eating some of his, too. "But you're really moving down here. I can't believe you followed me out here to the cornfields of Middle America." 

"I didn't follow you, dumbass. They gave me a fellowship. Also, you live in Pennsylvania, Bucky, that's hardly Middle America." 

"Cornfields," Bucky says. "Fucking cornfields. Everywhere. You drive ten minutes in any direction and there's a cornfield. Or a farm." 

"You miss the city." Steve nudges his foot against Bucky's and his chest floods with warmth when Bucky gets a pleased look on his face that he tries to hide in his coffee cup. 

"It's not so bad. Philly's not far, and you're going to be down here now." Bucky smiles again and tucks the hair that falls into his face behind his ear. "We need to find you a place to live." 

"Mom thinks I should just live on campus, but... I don't know." Steve starts doodling on the paper in front of him. "It's kind of expensive, and I don't want to live any closer to the frat houses and dorms than I have to." 

"You got that right. Give me your phone so I can look for places." 

"You have your own phone." But Steve unlocks his phone and hands it over anyway, of course he does, he always does when Bucky smiles at him like that, sweet and quick and fond. 

"Yeah, but I might have to bookmark stuff for you. Take selfies for you to gaze at later..." Bucky takes Steve's phone from him and scrolls through the rental listings, frowning the whole time. "None of these look good enough," he murmurs. 

"I don't need anywhere special. Just a place to sleep and eat." 

"Sure you do. Close to campus, and the bus stop... You can't do pets, and ... ugh, no, not there..." 

Steve sighs and shakes his head again when Bucky doesn't even look up from his phone. His hair is falling into his face again, his forehead creased in thought, and his tongue edging along his lower lip. It's all so familiar, so heart-warmingly familiar, that Steve has to stop himself from touching Bucky's hand, or leaning over the table to stroke his hair. 

He's missed this. He's missed Bucky so much during the time they've lived states apart. He's missed that look Bucky gets on his face when he's thinking, or the way he absent-mindedly rubs his foot along the instep of Steve's, or the way he doesn't even look at Steve when their fingers brush, but lets his linger against Steve's for a couple seconds.

"Maybe you could put a listing on the GSA page... say you're looking for a place and a roommate. Find somebody suitable that way..." Bucky frowns again and starts typing on Steve's phone. "Grad Student Association... they can be helpful sometimes." 

"Okay." Steve leans forward and turns to a clean page so he can write down ideas. "I should probably find someplace I can move into before the semester starts..." 

"Yeah. Also--write this down, okay?" Bucky waits until Steve nods, then, "Let's see, no pets, no smoking, willing to dust and vacuum once a week, maybe twice, needs air conditioning, dependable heat, air purifier?" he asks. 

"Bucky, I'm not _that_ bad. I'm not." Steve kicks Bucky under the cafe table and examines the first few phrases he'd written down from Bucky's litany. He taps his pen against the notebook and feels a small, gnawing sense of uncertainty. "Am I that bad to live with?" 

"Hell if I know, I never lived with you." Bucky leans in and slips the pen from Steve's hand and writes his own address next to whatever Steve's already written down. "We could fix that, though." 

"You _have_ a roommate. And you don't have room for another one, not permanently. Trust me, I know, I've slept in your living room often enough." 

"Yeah, now, but Gabe's moving in with his lady this summer. He's going to be gone most of July for that internship, then he's moving right at the start of August. So you could move in... well, whenever, really." 

Steve fumbles with the napkin next to his cup of coffee. Throughout most of middle school, high school, he and Bucky had practically lived together for all the time they spent at each other's houses. Even during college, when they'd both lived at home and commuted, Steve can remember spending nights at Bucky's house when they both had early morning classes, or Bucky staying at his during the weekends when his mom had extra long or late shifts at the hospital. 

So, okay, maybe living together wouldn't be all that weird. The past couple years had been kind of lonely, what with Bucky working on his degree in history down here and Steve aimlessly working at the art supply store and giving drawing lessons there during the week and at the community center on the weekends. Only seeing Bucky during breaks always felt like one of the missing, important pieces of his life was slotting back into place, but slightly askew. 

Living with Bucky while doing his MFA could be the worst or best decision he's ever made, depending on how well he can get used to always having that one missing piece, ever askew, and holding onto that secret knowledge of how he wants to spend the rest of his life. 

And with _whom_ he wants to spend his time. That last, final, missing piece, worn smooth along the edges of his heart, the one he's always been too scared to pick up and slot in neatly alongside the other parts of his life. 

But he might never have the chance again, and that empty space inside him that always just means 'Bucky' has been too achy of late. 

"Give me my pen and paper back, and tell me what I need to buy before I move into that hole in a wall you call home." 

The smile on Bucky's face is so worth those few moments of hesitation. Even his eyes light up, all blue and silver grey like they only do when he's excited, and Steve's stomach drops a little at the intensity of it. Bucky hands Steve his stuff back and leans forward, head resting on his crossed arms, as he dictates to Steve. 

"Okay, I'll get an air purifier, 'cause people smoke outside on the street a lot and I'm not having you breathe that, you probably want to start thinking about a new bed and bedding and maybe a desk...?" 

Steve's writing down most of what Bucky says, but he's also thinking about how his foot is still pressing to the inside of Bucky's, and how, when Bucky looks up at him, he can't resist using the end of his pen to push Bucky's hair out of his eyes. 

That earns him another bright smile and Steve is helpless against it, so much so that he ends up adding whatever Bucky tells him to, including all the ridiculous things only Bucky thinks a person needs in their first grad school apartment.

* * * 

"I thought I told you to get booze and mixing bowls." Bucky sits down with a heavy sigh on Steve's newly made bed and wipes the sweat from his forehead. Fuck, he forgot how miserable it is to move furniture and endless boxes of books in August.

Steve's kneeling over the edge of a box in shorts and a tee shirt, his blond hair a little damp with sweat and pushed off his face. He'd been wheezing a little after climbing the stairs a bunch of times and dealing with all the dust and humidity, but he wouldn't sit down until his car was empty. The inhaler made an appearance, though, and from the look of him now, he's fine, just a little overheated. 

"We can get alcohol here. And you have never baked a day in your life, so don't try to tell me that you need more mixing bowls." Steve finishes unpacking a box of books, then comes to sit next to Bucky on the bed. "Thanks for moving all the heavy stuff." 

"Hey, you're welcome. Mostly boxes, since the furniture got delivered." Bucky swipes his hand over his forehead again and takes a drink from the bottle of water Steve hands over to him. "You moved half of them anyway, I just grabbed what was left." 

"Still." Steve glances at Bucky, grateful, and reaches up to push a couple strands of hair off his face. His fingers are cool and gentle, not uncertain. "I'll buy dinner tonight. And get you your booze." 

"Nah, don't do that. Dinner, yeah, but I have beer if I want to dehydrate myself even more today." 

"Alright, dinner then. You have to pick, because I only know the cafe across the street." 

"Sure. Chinese?" 

"Or Thai? Anything with vegetables and protein." 

Bucky makes a sound of assent as he finishes the water. It takes him a few minutes, but soon enough he's cooled off enough to want to flop back onto Steve's bed and close his eyes, listen to the hum of the air conditioner, listen to Steve padding around his room barefoot putting away books and clothes. If he turns his face into the quilt and sheets, Bucky can smell the laundry soap Steve's mom uses, and it smells so much like _home_ that he doesn't open his eyes or move for a few minutes, just breathe it in. He could probably fall asleep here, right in the middle of the afternoon, a little too warm and too comfortable. 

The bed dips and Steve's hand settles flat in the center of Bucky's chest. Bucky can hear the soft sound of Steve's breathing, and the little humming sound he makes when Bucky opens his eyes. 

"Are you totally worn out? I should get you some more cold water..." Steve peers down at him, mouth tight at the corners with worry. 

"I'm okay. It's just really fucking hot today. Next time you move, you're moving in January." 

"When it snows? Great." Steve's nose wrinkles up a little at the suggestion. 

"Fine. _March_. You and your five hundred boxes of books can move in March." 

"Maybe I'll just never move again. Also," Steve prods the middle of Bucky's chest before resting his hand there once more, "I moved most of those books." 

Bucky laughs and nestles himself into the way Steve's hand is still resting on his chest, rising and falling as he breathes. That feels like home, too, as does reaching over and slipping Steve's glasses from his face. He's got a few freckles over his nose from the sun and he wrinkles it up again when Bucky leans in closer to look. 

"You're still all sweaty. Don't be a jerk," he adds, though he's laughing when Bucky leans in closer. "Now you're definitely stuck with me. I'm never moving out." 

"I'll definitely need my booze in that case." 

"And the mixing bowls?"

"Hell yeah," Bucky murmurs, "I need to learn how to cook for two people now." 

Steve lets out a laugh, then turns from Bucky to look up at the ceiling. When he turns back, he insinuates himself closer to Bucky, so his head's on Bucky's shoulder and his hand is still at the center of Bucky's chest. 

"It's kinda hot for cuddling, Stevie. Not like you aren't sweaty and gross, too." Bucky doesn't move, though he holds his breath for a few seconds, then lets it out in a sigh when Steve shrugs. "You tired?"

Steve shrugs again, but his body is warm and relaxed against Bucky's, and when Bucky peers down at the head tucked into his shoulder, Steve's eyes are already drooping shut. 

They've been moving things around the apartment since at least nine o'clock that morning, which means Steve had to have gotten up around five or six. It's getting late in the afternoon now, and the summer warmth and sunlight make the day feel long and slow. Steve's bare leg brushes against Bucky's and he lets out a small, tired sigh against Bucky's shoulder, one that makes Bucky want to yawn and burrow himself into the warmth and smell of Steve's bed, of his soap, his body. 

Steve dozes off for maybe a half hour, and Bucky drifts between being awake and being lulled by the sound of the air conditioner and the rhythm of Steve's breathing. They stay close and quiet for a half hour more, until it's nearly six o'clock. 

Steve sits and stretches, and then pulls Bucky up to sit next to him. "Okay. I needed that nap." 

"Yeah? Good." Bucky can't even think of anything smartass to say, not with Steve's face still soft and sleepy, and his own skin still buzzing with the warmth of being close to Steve. "We should get dinner. Take out?"

"Take out. Is there a place we can walk to?" 

"Sure." Bucky yawns and rubs his face, and realizes maybe he needed that half hour of rest, too.

*

A few days later, Bucky takes Steve on an unofficial tour of the campus, brings him to the history department, and tosses a spare hoodie at Steve when they get to his office.

"We can have it sub-zero, or swamplike in my office. No in-between during the summer. Sorry," he adds, and shrugs the flannel he keeps at his desk over his tee shirt. "It's like a sauna during the winter, though." 

"I thought your department got decent funding. More than the fine arts department, anyway." 

Bucky gives Steve a look. "Sure, Steve, grad students always get the best offices anywhere. What's yours look like?" 

"Um." Steve curls himself up in the empty desk usually occupied by Bucky's officemate during the academic year. "An attic room that I share with four other people?"

"Oh. I guess I'm living in the lap of luxury here. I need to work on an article, but you don't have to stay." 

"No, I want to. I have to update my portfolio, anyway." 

"Cool." Bucky slips his headphones on, opens up his article and his music, and settles into work mode. He's done writing at home, and that's fine, but he always gets more done at work, especially on days when he has to meet with his advisor. 

He gets about five pages of editing and revising done in an hour, and spends only about five or ten of those minute staring off into space or watching Steve flick through pictures of his artwork on his tablet. When Steve catches his eye, Bucky looks down, guilty, and then back at Steve with a quick smile. 

"Finish your homework," Steve says, and returns the smile only after looking back at his own work. 

Truth be told, Bucky likes grad school. He likes the intensity of his studies, he likes going to seminars and participating in competitive discussions, and he really, really likes not having to think about finding a job until his dissertation is finished. He's kind of wallowing in it, even when he's complaining about his students' terrible essays and his advisor's unmeetable deadlines, but... Yeah. He likes it. 

He likes having Steve here more than any of that, though.

*

"It really _is_ an attic." Bucky stands in the middle of Steve's office a few days later, arms crossed over his chest. "You got the dormer windows and the exposed roof beams... Is it supposed to be artsy?"

Steve comes up next to Bucky and pauses. He looks up at the ceiling and shrugs his hair out of his eyes. "I don't think that part is." 

"Huh." Bucky examines the rest of office--the prints and posters and decorated walls--and decides everything in the office is an attempt at artsy. "That must be your space?" he asks, and nods toward the one bare desk. 

"Yeah. Looks kind of sad now, but..." 

"We'll get you some stuff. You're TAing that big Art History class, right? You'll have books and stuff." 

"Your favorite. Tons of books." Steve jostles his shoulder against Bucky's and leans in against Bucky's side when Bucky slides an arm around him. 

Even when they're standing, Steve's head tucks in right against Bucky's shoulder, and if you get him at the right moment, instead of pointy elbows and restless energy, you get familiar warmth and a soft, pleased sigh in return for the hug. 

He's been really affectionate lately; Bucky figures he misses home, and maybe missed Bucky a little, too. He ought to say something, Bucky also thinks, but every time it crosses his mind, his mouth refuses to form the words. 

All he wants is to keep Steve close to him whenever he can. He's overprotective about that sometimes, sure, and he'll do things like offer to drive Steve to campus so he doesn't have to climb the hills up to campus on a bad asthma day, or let Steve pick out things for dinner so Bucky knows he'll eat them.

But he's selfish, too. He wants Steve now that he has him back; he wants the last few weeks of summer to be something that belongs to only the two of them.

*

Steve’s half-asleep on the futon when Bucky gets back from a department event a couple weeks later. He’s got his computer resting on his lap, an unzipped hoodie on over one of Bucky’s tee shirts and his boxers, and a travel mug and tissues next to the futon. There's a blanket crumpled up on the other end of the futon, and Bucky can only guess that Steve had been using it at some point.

“Hey,” he says, smiling when Bucky comes to sit on the edge of the sofa. “How was your symposium reception thing?” 

“Not bad. Still not my favorite summer evening activity, but…” Bucky kicks off his shoes and starts to unbutton the shirt he'd worn to the reception, then takes Steve’s computer off his lap when he's finished. “What’re we watching? Cooking shows?”

“That’s you, not me, so: _no._ ” 

“Whatever. You like them, too, when you watch with me.” Bucky puts the laptop aside so he can insinuate himself onto the sofa with Steve, his head on Steve’s shoulder, arm around his waist. “You feeling okay? You look a little down.”

Steve looks confused, looks like he's about to say yes, then tips his head to the side with a nod of understanding when Bucky glances down at the tea and tissues. "Allergies. I thought I was done for the summer, but I guess it's different here than at home. I took medicine when I got back from the library, then... fell asleep until just a few minutes ago."

“I feel like I should've warned you, but... I didn't realize. You look warm,” Bucky adds and nudges his nose against Steve’s neck when Steve _tsk_ s at him. 

“Bucky, stop. Your nose is cold.” He tries to escape, but is stopped by the limited space. Eventually, he lets out a sigh and fits himself in against Bucky and shoves his feet under the blanket. 

“It was _ridiculously_ cold in the history building, the air conditioning probably costs more than the reception itself. Fucking freezing...” He rests his head back against Steve’s shoulder and nestles himself in to try and get comfortable. The futon isn't really big enough for the both of them when it’s folded up into sofa position, but it’s so comfortable next to Steve. 

Steve sighs, but his hand settles in Bucky’s hair anyway and stays there for a few minutes. They don’t talk for a while, just stay close, and Bucky can pretend for those few minutes that is the most completely normal thing in the world to do with your best friend slash roommate. 

It _feels_ like the most normal thing in the world, to come home after three hours of networking in the deathly cold air conditioning to find Steve on the futon, all allergy-medicine sleepy and warm, and to cuddle in next to him on the futon. They run the a/c in their place, but keep it at a normal, human-friendly temperature, and Bucky thinks, probably, he could tug the blanket up over the two of them and fall asleep while Steve strokes his hair. 

His heart clenches a little; he could do that every evening, really. 

“Buck?” Steve says, then, after a pause, “Did you eat dinner? Did they feed you at the reception thing?”

Bucky shakes his head against Steve’s shoulder. Now that’s Steve’s mentioned it, he realizes he hasn’t had anything much to eat since the sandwich and apple he packed for lunch earlier that day. "Wine and cheese and crackers." 

"That's not dinner." Steve smoothes Bucky's hair back off his forehead, then strokes it again. "You want pizza? Let’s get pizza."

“Yeah. We got a coupon someplace for Gino’s.” Bucky turns his face into Steve’s shoulder and closes his eyes. 

In about thirty seconds, he’ll grab Steve’s phone and order them a pizza, then he’ll run downstairs and walk the two blocks to pick it up so they don’t have to pay for delivery, then he’ll come back and curl himself back in close to Steve and watch garbage television while they demolish the pizza. 

_Thirty seconds_ , he tells himself, and revels in the feel of Steve’s fingertips against his scalp. He finally looks up and moves away when Steve gives a little cough, fist held to his face as he turns away from Bucky. 

Bucky rubs his chest, then reaches for Steve's phone from his hoodie pocket. Steve takes it back for a second to unlock it, then hands it over to Bucky before he has to cough and sniffle a little bit. 

“Plain pizza? We’ll get the large…” Bucky scrolls through Gino’s menu on Steve’s phone, and nudges his feet against Steve’s through the blanket. 

“Extra large? We get a free soda with the extra large.” 

" _Extra_ large? Who's eating all this pizza? You. You're having pizza every damn night for a week." Bucky tries to ignore Steve, but he keeps pushing his toes against Bucky's feet through the blanket. 

“Get Sprite? Please?” Steve nudges back. He’s bracketed on one side by the futon, on the other by Bucky, and he looks incredibly pleased with himself as Bucky calls in their order. "Thank you..." 

"Yeah, you're lucky you're cute." Bucky reaches across Steve again to tuck the phone back into his pocket, then rests his head against Steve. "You look really cute tonight," he says, because he's run out of excuses not to. 

"I look like a mess. I spent-- _Oh._ " He pauses, blushes over his cheeks, but leans in closer when Bucky brushes his nose over Steve's. "This wasn't how I thought this was gonna happen..."

"How did you want it to happen?" Bucky brushes his lips over Steve's, too, so that they barely touch. "I'm open to ideas..." 

Steve laughs, a quiet huff against Bucky's mouth, and then he's kissing Bucky, his lips soft and warm, and the first couple kisses are so careful, so gentle that Bucky feels a little lost for a second. 

"Like that," Steve says, "me, kissing you first." Steve's lips murmurs over Bucky's as he talks, affectionate and light, and he kisses Bucky again. The tip of his tongue darts out to touch Bucky's bottom lip, ticklish at first, then a little more insistent when Bucky leans in closer. "And like this," he adds, an arm around Bucky, and pulls him into a slow, open-mouth kiss that makes this the deepest first-kiss Bucky's ever had. 

A good minute passes before Bucky catches his breath and leans away from Steve, his mouth damp and smiling from the way Steve keeps kissing him. "You got any other plans there, Steve?" 

"Sure, Buck." Steve reaches up to stroke Bucky's hair off his face and smiles. "Pizza, and a movie, and we'll probably start making out about ten minutes into that movie." 

"Not bad for a first date." 

"Well, I have had some time to make those plans..." Steve kisses the corner of Bucky's mouth, and tips his head to the side when Bucky moves in to kiss the angle of his jaw. 

When he reaches Steve's neck, Bucky stops to breathe in the scent of his skin, already familiar, and nuzzles against his collarbone. "I need to actually get that pizza." 

"I'll come with you." 

Laughing, Bucky nuzzles against Steve again. "You need pants, sweetheart," he murmurs, and the word feels new and right on his lips and against Steve's skin. 

Steve makes a sound of agreement and pushes Bucky away, then chases him with another kiss. It's at least five minutes before Steve gets up to find a pair of jeans, and another five before they get themselves out the door, hair tousled, clothes wrinkled, hands clasped.

* * *

Steve has four days of orientation before the semester starts--two for the university, two for his department--and by Thursday afternoon, he's ready to declare the week over and sleep in as much as he can for the next three days. He keeps catching himself thinking about Bucky, about all the evenings that ended with them on the futon, kissing, or falling asleep in each other's beds, during the past week. The margins of his notes are full of half-sketched daydreams, Bucky's eyes and hands and the shape of his mouth just before he wakes up in the morning.

The Grad Student Association has a party planned that night, but the appeal of what will probably turn out to be a bunch of loud, drunk engineering students isn't that high. The new grad students from the Art department are going out for drinks after TA training, though, and Steve's pretty sure he could do with a couple hours of relaxed socializing. Bucky's still at work, anyway, and they'd made plans to meet at the bookstore, so Steve's probably better off with friends than falling asleep in the middle of the day. 

After an hour of commiseration over vodka tonics, a couple people drift away from their group, and Steve texts Bucky to come meet them now that he's done running the TA training in his own department.

Bucky slides into the booth next to Steve about fifteen minutes later, puts his arm around Steve's shoulders and his drink next to Steve's. "How'd it go? You ready to start educating the youth about art appreciation?" 

"I think so? There was a lot of stuff, and I'll probably need to spend some time with the syllabus and readings over the weekend. How did your training go?" Steve leans into Bucky, a little proud of how Bucky's just as affectionate with him in public as he always was. 

"Great. I made all the new TAs a huge binder of strategies and policies, and probably put half of them off wanting to teach at all." Bucky smiles into his lager and hugs Steve tight around the shoulders. "What are you drinking? You need water? I'll get you some water." 

"My ridiculous boyfriend," Steve says on a sigh, tipping his head toward Bucky and then introduces him to his colleagues from the department. 

They stay for another half hour or so, and Bucky has his arm back around Steve as they walk away from the bar to the campus bookstore. "Everyone in your department looks really artsy." 

"Everyone in yours looks like a history teacher." Steve gives Bucky a sidelong glance, and then smiles when Bucky looks down at his outfit. He's wearing black jeans and a light blue button-up shirt, white tee shirt underneath, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. 

He looks nice, handsome, really, with his hair pushed back off his face and the last few days' stubble gone. But all Steve can think about when he looks at Bucky is how Bucky had spent at least ten minutes early that morning standing around in his tee shirt and boxers, drinking coffee and then pressing his shirt, while Steve read him the weather and the news headlines off his phone from Bucky's bed. 

"Let's go home." 

"You don't wanna go buy that huge fucking art book?" Bucky's hand slips into Steve's back pocket, though, and he glances at Steve with a small, sweet smile on his lips. 

"I can get that tomorrow. I'll get up early and get it and bring us back breakfast or something." 

"Or something?" 

Steve tugs Bucky in closer to him on the sidewalk and leans up to kiss Bucky, just once, soft and low, and slips a couple fingers inside Bucky's shirt between the button-holes. 

"Home," Steve says again, and tugs Bucky's lower lip between his own as he pulls away from a second kiss. 

Bucky gives him another sweet smile, though this one's more in his eyes than on his mouth, and he keeps his hand in Steve's back pocket for the rest of the walk home. Steve keeps an arm around Bucky, too, stroking the small of his back when they pause at corners to cross the street. 

The August afternoon is hot and humid, and Steve thinks his heart is racing a little too much, a little more than it ought to for a few blocks and two flights of stairs. They leave their shoes and bags by the door, and before Steve can turn back to Bucky, cool lips press to the warm nape of his neck. 

"Stevie," Bucky says, and kisses Steve again, whisper-light and inexplicably shiver-inducing. 

Steve lets the feeling run through him, from his chest to his fingertips, and gives another little shiver when Bucky works a hand underneath Steve's shirt to stroke his stomach. A curling warmth that starts below his navel replaces the shiver quickly, and Steve tips his head back to rest against Bucky's shoulder. 

"Buck... c'mon, bedroom." 

"Yeah? You really did want to get home didn't you?" 

Arching into the touch of Bucky's fingertips tracing patterns over his skin, Steve lets out a stuttering sigh and says 'sweetheart' in a voice that draws a needy sound from Bucky. His fingers still on Steve's stomach and his lips brush against Steve's temple, suddenly tender, and he murmurs Steve's name again. 

His voice goes so low and sweet during moments like this, and each time Steve hears it, every damn time, it feels like he's learning the sound of Bucky's voice for the first time all over again. What a discovery, so small, so thrilling, just when Steve had thought there'd be nothing more he could learn about Bucky. And then he'd kissed him, kissed his best friend, and their lives had unfolded between them, anew. 

Their apartment is cool, the sunlight falling in bars between the blinds onto his bed, their clothes a heap on the floor. Bucky's already sprawled out over Steve's rumpled sheets, his hair a dark tousle against the pillow, naked, like he belongs there. 

He does. He does, Steve thinks to himself, and he touches Bucky's chest to follow the light that stripes over Bucky's shoulder before Steve reaches for his phone. 

"Wait," he murmurs, shuts off his notifications, and puts on some slow, quiet music. "I just want it to be you and me." 

"Like always." Bucky catches Steve's fingers in his own and kisses the palm of his hand, then wrist, and the inside of his elbow. He lingers on the last kiss and then smiles up at Steve. 

"Like always," Steve agrees. He can still feel the warm, fim press of Bucky's mouth against his arm, the way his heartbeat seemed to thrum in that once place, as he dips down to press his lips to Bucky's parted ones. 

They keep kissing that way, open-mouthed and desperate, Steve's hands all over Bucky's chest, wanting to map every warm space, to keep track of every half-gasped breath and little needy sound he makes. By the time Steve has a hand on Bucky's hip, the kisses are wet and one slides into another and then another and they don't even pause to breathe, but breathe sharp through the kisses. 

His desire is sharp and sweet, too, and it catches in Steve's chest when he feels Bucky's hands move warm and firm down his body.

*

"Hey..." Steve brushes Bucky's hair off his face with one finger, then traces a line down the bridge of Bucky's nose.

Still sleepy, Bucky smiles and stretches. "Hey... I want to spend the rest of the day in bed with you." 

"There's about five hours left in the day... they're all yours." Steve touches the tip of his index finger to the corner of Bucky's mouth, to the cleft in his chin. He shifts on the bed so he's facing Bucky and he can tangle their legs and feet together. 

"Are you happy--" 

"Yeah..." Steve cuts Bucky off, kisses the side of his neck, finding the curve of his jaw where Steve that can nick his teeth against just right between kisses. "Yeah, I am." 

Bucky skims his palms down Steve's side and over his hip before tugging a sheet up over their legs. "Me, too." 

Steve dozes off again, Bucky's hand on his hip, his face tucked into Bucky's neck, and makes vague plans to have dinner and a shower with Bucky, and to spend the long August weekend like this: tangled up in the warmth of his boyfriend, bracketed by the last days of summer.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic fills the "Curtain Fic" Square on my Round 9 Trope Bingo Card.


End file.
